


Before the Sixth Day

by gardakuka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, No Warnings Present to Avoid Spoilers, Two Endings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-07 23:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21226139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardakuka/pseuds/gardakuka
Summary: As soon as the news about Starks being back to Winterfell approached the Quiet Isle, Sandor was on his way there.That's the whole story.Unless.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some warnings ahead:  
\- I am posting my fourth fanfic here, but English still didn't become my first language, help?  
\- initially I wanted to make only ONE PROPER ENDING for this type of fanfic, but then I decided two make a second one as well, you know, just in case (like in video games lol);  
\- there will be quite bizzare structure of the sentences and words, but I did it on purpose, you can consider this work as a small experiment;  
\- the whole storyline (and a PROPER ending) are briefly based on a folk tale's plot which is quite popular across some European countries; also, some things (including the title) were inspired by some folkloristic and religious storylines and traditions;  
\- there's a sign 'Chapter 1 out of 4', but I will see how things (and writing) will go, maybe this 4 will suddenly transform into 9;  
\- I didn't put any warnings or tags on purpose; I mean, who doesn't like surprises?..
> 
> Hope you will enjoy it (':

One day, the news of arrived.

A pilgrim came to the Quiet Isle, his legs covered in blisters and small wounds. He claimed he came from near the Wall, and when he smiled there was half of his teeth missing.

“There is new Lord in the Winterfell,” he told them. “A young boy called Rickon Stark. With his Lady sister serving as a regent.”

Elder Brother asked him if Lady sister had blue eyes.

“And auburn hair,” the pilgrim confirmed. “She looks similar to the new Lord.”

Elder Brother showed the pilgrim a place to stay and spend the night, and when the morning came he was already gone. As if he vanished.

And Elder Brother found Sandor Clegane in the stables, his robe forgotten and armour prepared.

“So you are leaving,” it was not a question at all.

“I am.”

“Will you try to see that Lady of yours?”

“I will.”

And Elder Brother did not stop him. Sandor Clegane was ready to go and see to his new live.

“May the Seven guard you,” he said.

“We will see.”

“They will. I might be an old fool, but the Seven are not like me. They see good in you, Brother.”

“Not a Brother anymore.”

“But it does not matter for them. They will be watching you until you will die. Father will give you wisdom. Mother will calm your temper. Maiden will bless you with happiness. Smith will make sure your house will not be in need. Crone will help you when you will step down and take your rest. Warrior will help you to protect yourself. And Stranger…”

“He can go the Hells where he belongs,” Sandor Clegane answered. “Maybe I learned to get along with the rest of the gods, but Stranger can bugger off. I do not want to see him and hear of him until my last breath.”

“And if you will?”

“Then I will do as I told. I will ask him to bugger off.”

Elder Brother did not answer. Deep in his thoughts, he missed the moment when Sandor Clegane mounted his horse.

“That is the only Stranger I trust,” he said.

“His name is Driftwood now.”

“He still looks like Stranger to me.”

Elder Brother wanted to sigh. But he did not. He just made a blessing sign, and Sandor Clegane was gone.

“Maybe I will see you again, Brother Sandor,” he said to the silence.

  


***

  


He traveled more than a day without any rest. Stranger, his horse, was tired. Sandor Clegane was tired as well, but he had to move forward.

There were Starks in Winterfell again.

There was Sansa Stark in Winterfell.

There was his little bird waiting. Sandor Clegane wanted to hope she was waiting for him.

It was getting colder and colder, and Stranger stopped in the middle of the forest, his tail twitching, his breath quickened. He needed some rest, and Sandor Clegane decided to spend this night in the middle of the forest.

He remembered this area, it was rare to meet any outlaw here. And with the war over, he was not scared to be attacked at all. And he needed some rest.

He had some bread and cheese in one of his bags. And apples for Stranger. Sandor Clegane made sure his horse will be fed as good as it was possible at the moment.

He fell asleep as soon as his head touched a pillow he made from the rest of his clothes. In his sleep, Sandor Clegane saw pretty birds flying around the forest, their feathers red and their voices sweet. They were flying near him, but he was not able to touch any of them. He had to stand up from his bedroll and run forward to catch any of them unguard, but when his hand caressed beautiful feathers of one of them, the pretty bird looked at him, its eyes deep blue. And then it vanished.

When Sandor Clegane woke up, it was just him and Stranger in this forest. He did not hear any animal to rustle in the distance, and the songbirds were still asleep. Only Stranger was snorting and asking for food. He looked well-rested and Sandor Clegane wondered how long he was sleeping.

His back was hurting. He wanted to eat, and bread with cheese made a good job for him. He gave Stranger some apples and ate one as well. He was feeling greasy but it was too cold to find any stream and wash himself. Sandor Clegane cursed. He did not want to arrive to meet Sansa Stark stinking like a dead rat. So he decided to move forward.

It was getting colder and colder. Sandor Clegane was riding through the forest and tried not to attract too much attention. He stayed away from the big roads and inns, and after days of his travel he still did not meet any living person. That was for the best.

But Winter was here.

It became difficult to sleep in the forest, and Stranger’s mane was frost from time to time. Stranger did not like this weather at all, and with every next day his pace was getting slower and slower.

Sandor Clegane was getting more grumpy and gloomy.

Until the day he bumped into a small house on the skirts of the wood. It was not an inn, and Sandor thought that this house was abandoned. Stranger made an eager sound and Sandor Clegane realised he was too tired to ride by this house and not ask the master of this house to spend at least one night under his roof.

He could have a proper sleep. He could have a bath. He could feel himself warm enough to be able to continue his journey.

So he dismounted and led Stranger to the house.

There was almost nothing in the yard, he was only able to see the looms of flowers and garden-beds under the snow. He asked Stranger to stay calm and banged into the old wooden door.

There was no sound inside the house.

Sandor Clegane decided that the master of this house had moved somewhere else to spent this terribly long winter. Or he simply died and his body was laying on the bed somewhere in this house's womb.

He turned around and went to Stranger, feeling disappointment and anger.

But then the old wooden door made a creaking sound and the master of this house appeared.

He was an old man. A very old man with bald face and tiny layer of white hair on his head. Dressed in black clothes, he looked as if he came to open the door straight from his deathbed.

“Can I help you, young man?” he asked.

Sandor Clegane wanted to mock him, but then he understood. He was definitely a young man comparing to this senior.

“I just wanted to spend this night somewhere,” he jerked his left shoulder. “It is too cold for us to stay in the forest for another night or two.”

“Winter is here,” an old man answered.

Sandor Clegane decided to take it as a sign that he had already crossed the border of the North.

“I am going to Winterfell,” he added unknowingly.

Old master nodded.

“It will be a long way for you, young man. But you can stay here. I have some food in my house. And hay in the barn. You can have them, but i will ask you for some help tomorrow.”

Most probably he needed help with his household. Being an old man had its weaknesses.

‘Then it is a deal,” Sandor Clegane nodded and stepped inside.

The wooden door made a creaking sound again and then it was quite. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah shit here we go to 9 chapters again...

When Sandor Clegane woke up it was snowing outside. The snowflakes were huge, fat, and fluffy, and they covered everything around the small house. He was not able even to see the trees which were growing around.

“The snow is always like this here,” told him master of this house. “Sometimes I cannot get out of my yard for weeks.”

“And how do you survive then?”

“Thanks to the Six.”

“Six?” Sandor Clegane repeated after him.

“Six,” the old man nodded and returned to his food.

They shared old man’s dry meat and Sandor Clegane’s bread. Then old man told him to go and see to his horse who spent this night in a barn.

Stranger was happy to see his master. He was even more happy to show him that there was enough hay to eat for weeks. Sandor Clegane had no idea why this old man decided to prepare that much hay when he did not have any horse around. But it worked in his favour. In his and Stranger’s, of course.

He brushed his horse’s mane, checked his plates. Stranger snorted and Sandor Clegane took it as a request to go away and give his horse time to rest before they could continue their journey.

And Sandor Clegane wanted to continue his journey so much.

He asked an old man how long it would take him to get to Winterfell.

“I cannot give you any hint, unfortunately,” he answered. “Everything will depend on you, young man.”

He never asked Sandor Clegane for his name. Maybe he recognised his face and decided to go along. Maybe he had no idea about a man who was serving buggering Lannisters in his previous life - and had no interest to find who was his guest at all. It was a foolish decision from this man, as Sandor Clegane could turn to be an outlaw or a robber.

Sandor Clegane was not an outlaw or robber. Maybe this old man did not feel any danger coming from him, so he did not need his name at all.

But he did ask Sandor Clegane for some help.

“There is a wooden roof in the kitchen,” he said. “The small pieces in the corner became rotten. It is too wet to go to the kitchen when it rains, and too cold when it snows like now. I cannot make a fire to prepare us some tea.”

Sandor Clegane asked where old man had his hammer and nails. He cut some wood from a strong stub growing in the yard and went to repair kitchen’s roof. It looked quite easy, but nails were rusty and rotten wood did not want to cooperate with him. It felt like the whole repair took hours, but Sandor Clegane was happy with the final result of his work.

When he came back to the room where old man was living, there was another guest sitting near small window.

“That is the young man I told you about,” old man said to this stranger. It looked like they knew each other already.

“Young traveler?” asked guest. He stood up and offered his hand to Sandor Clegane.

He was tall, maybe some inches shorter than Sandor Clegane himself. His eyes grey, his shoulders broad, his dark hair but with a small touch of age. He had thousands of wrinkles and lines on his face. He looked like a proper son of a North. Or like a member of Clegane family.

There was something familiar in his features, but Sandor Clegane was not able to understand what exactly made him think so. He shook offered hand, man’s grip strong but soft. His skin was covered in small scars, scratches, and animals bites. Somehow this hand reminded Sandor Clegane of his father, and he hurried to shake off this thought.

“I am going to Winterfell,” he told that man.

“Winterfell,” a tiny smile appeared on man’s lips. “Years had passed since I was visiting that place. Strong walls, fair rule, good people.”

“Indeed.”

“You are going there on purpose, right?”

“I am going to meet the Lady of these lands.”

“Lady?” there was a shadow of confusion in man’s voice. “Correct me if I am wrong, but Lord Rickon Stark is still to young to take himself a bride.”

“He is talking about Sansa Stark,” old master piped up. He was chewing on some sort of sweets, there was full bag of them on the table. This guest did not come without his hands empty.

“Lady Sansa Stark,” there was a smile in man’s voice now and Sandor Clegane’s body suddenly tensed.

But the guest did not pay any attention to it.

“I remember Sansa Stark,” he continued. “When I saw her the last time she was still a girl. Her eyes bright, her dreams full of fairytales, and her back clean of scars. She was a sweet girl. Hopefully, she is a nice Lady now.”

“And she is old enough to take herself a husband,” old man smacked his lips. “What a tasty treat you brought here, my friend.”

“If what you say about Sansa Stark is true, I will have to pay a visit to Winterfell soon. After she will get betrothed.”

His last words calmed Sandor Clegane down. Most probably this man was an old friend of Ned Stark, and now he looked to visit his children for a wedding feast. Nothing to worry about.

“You could join me on my way there,” he offered, but guest just shook his head.

“It is too early for me to go there now. Besides,” he turned his gaze to the old man. “There is one of our friends in Winterfell now. Or at least was before.”

“I thought two of them were there.”

“Maybe two,” guest shrugged. “Or maybe they had already left.”

“We could ask them about Winterfell next time we see each other,” old man nodded. “And please, bring some lemon sweets next time. I need something sour in my life.”

Sandor Clegane had no idea why the guest started to laugh.

“The sourness in you will boil over soon if you will keep thinking like this.”

“You will not understand,” old man shrugged.

“Have you been to Winterfell before?” the guest suddenly asked Sandor Clegane and he nodded.

“Before Ned Stark traveled South.”

“So, we were there at the same time.”

“I do not recall seeing you there.”

“But it does not mean I was not present.”

The guest was right. He looked like a northman, and Winterfell was teeming with them. maybe he even saw that man before, but his face did not make an imprint on Sandor Clegane’s mind. That is why his face looked familiar.

At least Sandor Clegane suspected so.

“This young man said he repaired my roof,” old man suddenly mentioned.

“As if it was something heroic,” Sandor Clegane grumbled.

“Oh,” the guest looked at him with some interest. “You really did? Maybe you could do a small favour for me as well?”

He digged a small knife from his pocket, its handle creaked. Sandor Clegane took the knife from man’s hands, his fingers brushed warm but rough skin again. It reminded him about the time from his childhood when the Lord of Clegane Keep presented Sandor Clegane his first knife. To use for cutting wooden pipes and troughs for the newborn pups.

Sandor Clegane had a simple knife when he was a lad, but this one was a very special one. Its blade sharp and thin, its handle covered in ligature.

“That is a good work of the craftsman,” he noted.

“The one who did this handle is a true artist,” the guest nodded. “But she has lots of talents anyway.”

“She?”

“Women can do woodwork too,” the master made cracking sound.

“They do,” Sandor Clegane agreed, still looking at the handle. “I can try to fix it for you, but the ligature will be damaged a little bit.”

“That is not a problem,” the man shrugged.

It was difficult for Sandor Clegane’s big and calloused fingers to work with such a tiny piece of wood, but when he was done the knife looked almost like a new.

“That is the an amazing work,” an old man even moved forward to take a proper look at the knife.

“I am very grateful,” the guest bowed his head. “I felt myself quite helpless without it. But now I could go and see my duties as before.”

Sandor Clegane did not know why such a small and delicate knife can be a matter of necessity in man’s life, but he did not say anything.

“I will go to see my horse,” he said.

“You should bring him more apples,” an old man suggested.

“Treat your horse well,” the guest said. “He saved you for many times, and when he is in need you should not turn your back at him. The same goes with people as well, young man.”

Sandor Clegane did as an old man advised. Stranger happily ate new apples from his hands and made a happy snort. He looked well-rested, and they could get back to their journey the next morning. If, of course, the weather would allow.

When Sandor Clegane came back to the house, there were two mugs with hot water and some leaves on the wooden table.

“Try it,” old man pointed at one of them. “The mint will give you strength, and wild strawberry will bring you the sweetest dreams.”

“Where is your guest?” Sandor Clegane asked.

Old man just shrugged and pointed at the window.

“He had some job to do, so he left.”

Sandor Clegane did not notice any footprints near the door, except for his ones. The life on the Quiet Isle had taken some of his warrior’s instincts for sure.

He seated himself down in front of the old man and took a mug in his hands.

“I think I will resume my journey tomorrow,” he said. The ground was still covered by snow, but the skies were clear for the whole day.

“You might,” old man nodded. “We will see tomorrow.”

Sandor Clegane nodded, warming his hands with the warm mug.

“That man - your guest, have you seen him often before?”

“We have met for several times.”

“Is he a northerner?”

“Maybe. Maybe he is not. Do not know,” the master shrugged. “But you can think of him as a one, if you wish.”

“You are a strange man,” Sandor Clegane snorted.

“I guess I am.”

There was silence in the room again. The tea was warm, the fire from the kitchen was slowly embracing the whole house.

“I wonder what he knows about Sansa Stark,” Sandor Clegane mumbled.

“Maybe nothing. Maybe even more than you,” was the answer.

“He said her back is covered with scars.”

“He definitely did so.”

Sandor Clegane frowned.

“How in the Hells he knew about her scars?”

The master shrugged again.

“Not in the Hells,” he said, focusing his attention on his mug.

He really was a strange man.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Sandor's sister older than him for the sake of plot, I'm sorry

Sandor Clegane woke up to the loud sound from the kitchen. As if an old man decided to get a large pan which was standing on the highest shelf and ended up falling down with the said pan and everything else what was put on it.

He stood up and shoot a look at the window. The sun was already shining bright, and its reflexion on the pure white snow made Sandor Clegane squeeze his eyes. Well, there was even more snow outside than yesterday, so he had to postpone the journey to Winterfell again. What a pity.

Sandor Clegane sighed and walked to the kitchen. The old master was not there. Instead, Sandor Clegane almost bumped into a young wench who was on her way out.

“Oh, pardon me,” she chirped.

Sandor Clegane made a step back and took a proper look at her. The wench -  _ girl _ , was quite tall, her hair mixture of auburn and chestnut, and her eyes two pools of a very strange colour. They were blue, but as soon as Sandor Clegane blinked they turned gray. Then blue again.

“I am so sorry I woke you up,” she continued her chirping. “I just wanted to help here as we decided to pay a visit on our way to the Riverlands.”

“We?” Sandor Clegane repeated.

“I am travelling with my mother,” the girl answered. “We were in Winterfell for some time, and now we…”

“Winterfell, you said?” Sandor Clegane cut her off, the eagerness in his voice palpable.

The girl nodded.

“We have been there for a while. But mother had to go to Riverrun and I decided to join her. I do not think I will stay there for too long, after all, I like it more in Winterfell, and…”

This girl was chirping too much. It reminded Sandor Clegane of the curst time of his life in the Red Keep, when he was surrounded by the chirping of Sansa Stark all the time, even in his dreams. It reminded Sandor Clegane of his sister too, her head full of hopes and dreams, her soul full of sour and pain.

“Where is your mother?” he asked.

The girl nodded to the wooden door.

“In the barn.”

“And the old man?”

“He is there too. He told mother about your horse, and she was so keen to see him.”

“I am sure none of women ever wanted to see Stranger after hearing of him.”

Girl’s lips parted in a small laugh.

“So you named your horse Stranger?” she asked with a plisky spark in her eye. “No wonder why he was talking and talking about your horse all the morning.”

Sandor Clegane shrugged.

“It is just a name,” he said.

“Sometimes a name can define a person. Or a horse.”

“He was the fiercest horse I ever met.”

“And now he became too old for fighting?”

“Now both of us are at rest.”

The girl chewed on her lip. Almost like Sansa Stark did when she was deep in her thoughts or nervous.

“You are a very interesting person,” she said.

Sandor Clegane snorted. He had heard these words from women so many times in his life, and they always followed by a seduction attempt from the said women. So he made a step back and crossed his hands on his chest.

“I am going to Winterfell to meet Sansa Stark,” he announced.

Sandor Clegane decided that acting harsh and honest will make this girl to understand he was not interesting in anything related to the activities which could include two of them.

But she just smiled again, her eyes changing their colour to the mixture of blue and gray.

“Sansa Stark became a beautiful young lady,” she happily announced, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “She is now standing by the side of her brother, but there is no one to stand by her side.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sansa Stark is waiting for someone.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was there almost every day since Sansa and Rickon Stark came back to Winterfell,” the girl explained. “And I have spent some time with her to understand what she is looking for - and whom she is waiting for.”

“So you are her handmaid?”

There was a sweet quiet laugh again. As if this girl was a proper lady, and not just a simple wench who had to change her whereabouts from time to time.

“You can think so if you want,” she said. “But it will not change the fact I know about Sansa Stark and her wishes.”

“And whom she is waiting for?” Sandor Clegane asked, his patience lost completely.

“You will find out when you are in Winterfell.”

Sandor Clegane wanted to answer her in a mocking way, but then the wooden door opened and there was an old master with an unknown lady coming inside the house, their cheeks red from the cold.

Sandor Clegane realised that this woman was the said mother of the girl he met. She was tall, like her daughter, with some swirls of silver in her dark hair, and sad but warm expression in her eyes. She smiled at Sandor Clegane and bowed her head in a silent greeting.

“We tend to your horse,” she said with her melodious voice. “What a strong creature he is.”

“He is called Stranger after all,” the old master snorted, and his remark was followed by girl’s giggle.

Her mother was still smiling.

“He could have a good and strong breed.”

“Maybe one day,” Sandor Clegane shrugged.

“That will make too many Strangers for this world,” old man snorted again.

This remark had finally made the lady to laugh as well. She laughed not like her daughter, but calmly and warmer. It reminded Sandor Clegane how his mother was laughing when he was running to her before going to bed, his hands full of clueless pups and his clothes stained with dirt. His mother would make a bath for him, put all those pups to their place Sandor Clegane made near his bed, and then tell him another nice and happy story about the great future that was awaiting him.

But Sandor Clegane’s mother was wrong. That promised future had never come, and when he was not even five, his mother had passed away in her sleep.

He had never heard a laugh so gentle and so warm after that, until this lady showed up on a threshold of the small house which became Sandor Clegane’s shelter by a twist of fate.

Well, this lady was someone’s mother after all, and maybe all mothers learned how to laugh in that special way.

This thought made Sandor Clegane think if Sansa Stark will have the same laugh one day too.

But then the girl announced that she had made a breakfast for all of them, and Sandor Clegane had to forget about this thought.

The lady and and the master seated themselves around small table, and Sandor Clegane went to the kitchen to help the girl. She smiled at him, and when they returned back to the room, their hands full of warm food and fresh boiled water, her mother smiled.

“You will make a good husband and father one day.”

“And have a good and strong breed,” the old man snorted under his breath, so quiet that only Sandor Clegane heard him.

“Only if a fool of a woman will be happy to take me as her husband,” he grumbled.

“Sansa Stark is not a fool,” the girl shrugged and focused her attention on her food.

“You do not need to be harsh on yourself,” her mother said, looking at Sandor with a sad glance again. As if she really was his mother and he, a young and silly pup, had done something ridiculous and childish even for his small age. “You are a good person, but you prefer to hide that person somewhere in a dark cupboard. And that is not how your life needs to be.”

“I do not think you know me too well to make such assumptions,” Sandor Clegane answered.

“I know enough to say these words,” the lady replied.

Like the man from yesterday, she looked too sure of her opinion, and there was something in her stare that made Sandor Clegane want to trust everything she was saying.

These northerners had their strange magic on him, for sure. And Sansa Stark was the first one.

Sandor Clegane did not say any other word until the end of their breakfast. But old man was talkative enough to engage his guests. He told them about the blizzard which happened the last night when Sandor Clegane was sleeping, about his guest from yesterday, he even mentioned that Sandor Clegane had repaired his roof. And that northman’s knife.

“Oh, so he broke it after all?” the girl said in a sad voice.

“I am sure it was an accident,” old man patted her shoulder. “But trust me, he cherishes that knife - he would not ask this young man to repair it straight away.”

That was interesting.

“So you are the one who made that hande?” Sandor Clegane asked and got a nod as a reply.

“Then I can just thank you for your help,” her mother said with a smile. “And you just proved once again that you are a good person.”

“If you say so,” Sandor Clegane mumbled facing away.

He was not used to be surrounded by so many strange people at the same time, but somehow he was able to feel something warm inside his chest.

Damned northerners with their damned magic.


End file.
